


If Only

by franxisss



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Character Death, Countries Using Human Names, Homosexual Conversion Therapy mention, Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-06
Updated: 2017-05-06
Packaged: 2018-10-28 16:35:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,963
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10835100
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/franxisss/pseuds/franxisss
Summary: Alfred had been busy that summer, so busy. So busy that he had neglected to notice that Arthur was changing.Any other summer, any other than that one, Alfred would have noticed immediately. He would have locked all the doors, and made sure nobody left until he knew Arthur was gonna make it through another day alone.But he was late to work, and now Arthur's gone.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hey there- 
> 
> The original AU is from an RP I have with a friend. Arthur's parents had him at a young age, and were really good parents, but eventually got immersed in college studies and asked Arthur's aunt to take care of him for a while. 
> 
> In highschool, Arthur met Alfred. He helped Arthur come to terms with his sexuality, and in turn Arthur came out to his aunt. Unfortunately, this didn't go well at all, and Arthur endured two years of homosexual conversion therapy. But when he returned home, Alfred was still there, and after helping Arthur recover their romance ensued. 
> 
> This takes place years later, when the two have been married for about eleven years. Alfred is a head chef and owner of his own restaurant, a dream he had discussed with Arthur since they were kids.

Life was good. No, life was great in the Kirkland-Jones' household. Their eleven-year-old daughter had just entered third grade and was adjusting well. Business at Alfred's restaurant was booming - opening in the summer had been a great idea, suggested by Arthur. Since grand opening, the doors never were permanently shut. The food was simply amazing. 

Alfred's younger brother Matthew lived with them, as per request of their retired mother who faced financial struggles. He too had gotten a job, or two - working part time at his brother's restaurant as a busboy and the other part as a caretaker at the animal shelter nearbye. 

As for Arthur, he was content at home. He spent most of the day without his husband of eleven beautiful years, best-friend of fifteen. Alfred would be long gone by the time he woke to take their daughter off to school, already working hard at setting dishes out for the buffet-style joint he ran in the heart of the city. It was lonely, he would have had to admit - but if his heart string ever dragged too much he could always swing by for lunch. 

Life was good now, sure, but it hadn't always been that great. And Alfred was now too oblivious, his work pulling a blanket around his eyes, to notice that Arthur was suffering again. It was annual. Memories of his two teenage years wasted to being forced to touch girls and be non-consensually stimulated while watching porn would come back to Arthur every once in a while, and stung like a re-opened wound. This year, especially. 

Any other time, it was relatively easy to handle. Arthur would ask Alfred to call him during his breaks, and Alfred normally came home earlier for cuddles and a movie. But this year, Alfred had fulfilled his dream - something he had scribbled in coloring books as a child - he had opened his own restaurant. A buffet, with hundreds of options, all from different countries. (He had enjoyed a great round-world trip with Arthur to find recipes.)

But now, with the restaurant open, Alfred was gone for thirteen hours a day and Arthur had no one to talk to. No one to vent to. He had gone through two moleskins in a week, his emotions and feelings spilling to the lined pages in the form of blue ink through a ballpoint. But notebooks weren't enough anymore. A notebook couldn't hold him like Alfred would. But it frustrated him more to even think about his husband at this time; How had Alfred not even noticed that Arthur's been dwindling again. 

And Alfred wouldn't notice until three months after opening his buffet, a day before he would take well over a month off tending to his daughter with the help of his brother. 

He had been late that one morning - He slept past his alarm, and Arthut had desperately begged for him to stay. He had tried to make it as clear as possible to Alfred that something was wrong. But even still, oblivion clouded his eyes as he nodded at Arthur and left for his chain in the blink of an eye.

Arthur sank against the wall, tears streaming from his eyes. His hands shook when he stood, driving to take their daughter to her school. He plotted the angles of his death, like plotting shapes on a graph, on the drive home. He cleaned, the house had never looked so nice. He tried to stall. He tried to change his own mind. 

In the end, he had stripped their bed of their sheets, leaving a neat stacked pile of his moleskins in the exact center, (he used a measure and everything. It had to be center). They would act as his suicide note. They would hopefully explain to Alfred how he had been feeling. 

He locked himself in their bathroom suit. He threw open the medicine cabinet, a portal to his suicide, so hard that the glass cracked through the centers. With shaky hands, he downed entire bottles of pills and potions, not caring for labels or convenient flavors. He took it all. He closed the mirror, sulking at himself in the cracked glass. His face was puffy from tears. His arms shook as he held himself up against the counter, trembling as he forced himself to watch his own death.

What seemed like millenias later, he lost consciousness. His arms gave, and he fell forward. His head smashed slightly against the corner of the sink, splattering two or three drops of blood on the mirror. They soon beaded and slid down. Not long after, he was dead. 

It wasn't until five hours later that he was discovered. Their daughter got out of school at 2:30, and when Arthur still hadn't arrived to pick her up at 3:00, she had asked the office to call her other father. Alfred has to admit, he had been irritated with Arthur as he drove their child home. He had even called him and left a voice message. "Hey, what the hell? Why didn't you pick Corinne up? I had to take off because of this. You so owe me." 

They got home at 4:00, and Alfred felt something different. The house felt stiff. He had called out for Arthur, and when no response came his stomach had started to drop. He wearily walked upstairs, their bedroom door already opened. When he saw their naked mattress, two black books dead-center, he began to panic. 

He threw himself against the bathroom door, kicking and shoving at the handle. He eventually took his pistol from the panel in his closet, shooting the lock open in a hurry. As his foot pushed the door open, he sank to his knees with a shrill cry of defeat. He fled to the body on the floor, lifting Arthur into his arms, his face already plastered with tears. Arthur's pulse was gone. 

The eleven-year-old appeared in the doorway of the bathroom, and her eyes began to water at the small stream of blood trickling from Arthur's lips. Alfred set his husband down, scooping his girl up and escaping them to downstairs, where he called 9-11. He never let go of the girl, his hand petting her hair as red and blue lights soon filled their living room. "It's gonna be okay," he whispered to her as strange men entered their house and left with a black bag, with two feet out the end of it. 

The night was long. Alfred had made his daughter sleep, even though the girl was strongly opposed to the idea. She had Arthur's attitude. Alfred hadn't slept a drop, his hands shooting to every phone call he got. He knew Arthur was dead - the medics had told him he had been dead for hours before Alfred found him. But somehow, with every chirp of his ringtone, Alfred was filled with some hope that Arthur had taken another breath. 

It was ironic. Arthur had been the one who had suggested that Alfred open the restaurant in the summer. "Business would be great," Arthur had said. Neither knowing that business would be too great, not letting Alfred see the red flags popping over Arthur's body. And now, Arthur was gone. 

Alfred took a month and a half after Arthur's death at home. He alerted his daughter's school, and he would pick her school work up daily and help her so she wouldn't get behind. He hadn't been able to actually explain what had happened yet, he always cried too much. But she was old enough. She knew why Arthur hadn't come home. She just didn't know why her father was dead. 

And with Alfred's progress in mourning, it would be a while before she did.


	2. Chapter 2

It had been a month and a half, nearly two months, of Alfred sleeping alone every night. For the first week, he had tried to cover all their pictures but he soon found that he needed them. He would choose one photo every night, and he would sleep with it. It was the only way to feel closer to his lost one. 

Arthur's funeral was hard for him. He tore himself up afterward, for breaking down in the middle of the eulogy he wrote. He had wanted it to be perfect, and his emotions had gotten in the way again. Matthew had told him not to worry, it's natural. "It's not every day you lose your husband. You're gonna cry a bit, Al." 

He had started Corinne back at school. She was having a hard time, and often came home early for crying or outbursts of anger. Alfred had reprimanded her for throwing these fits at school, but not so in an angry way. He would talk with her about it, about why it had happened, about what someone said that set it off. He talked with her about Arthur, about how they both missed him. She was his daughter, he couldn't let her emotions get the best of her, a Arthur's did him. 

Returning to work, the kitchens were silent in respect. So were the dining rooms. Guests weren't as loud as normal, being made aware of their hosts situation. Alfred had invited them to speak and be noisy many a time, the silence was really the opposite of what he needed. 

In this time of mourning, old friends had a habit of stopping by to help Alfred. Francis, a friend from high school, brought dinner once a week. One of Arthur's brothers would even stop in every once in a while, despite not liking Alfred very much since day one. 

Alfred had read through the journals Arthur had squared on the mattress the day of his death. He had only blamed himself thereafter, all of these signs were right there in front of his damn eyes. How could he have never seen them? If anyone in the world were to notice Arthur was different, it would have been Alfred, right? 

"If only I would have opened my fucking eyes," he had cursed to himself, throwing one of the leather books flush against the wall. "If only.."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, you- 
> 
> I hope you weren't expecting this fic to be very long. The next chapter, the last one, is just going to be a quick little epilouge. 
> 
> But hey! Hit me up if you want more. My tumblr is @writings-of-usuk
> 
> \- Francis


	3. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As promised, here's the small epilogue. This will be more of an in-the-moment chapter. The past two have just sorta explained what happened and yeh- 
> 
> But anyway- 
> 
> \- Francis

"Well," Alfred let out a soft sigh, swiping a final paper towel across the mirror in their master-bathroom, "it's clean, Arthur." 

The mirror was spotless. Alfred had done it once a week, ever since that day. "It's been three years, honey. It's hard to believe you've been up there for three years. A lot has changed." Alfred spoke the truth. A lot had changed. Their daughter was fourteen, a prestigious student in school. 

"Corinne's a lot like you. Straight A's, she doesn't take shit from anybody. Damn, Art..I'm so fucking proud of that girl." He let out a sad excuse of a laugh. "The restaurant's calmed down a lot. It isn't as busy as it used to be. But don't worry, I still make good profit. Corinne helps me bus on the weekends." 

He stares at himself in the mirror for a bit, sighing as his lips quiver. "I miss you a lot, baby. I miss you so much. I wish you wouldn't have left us, but wishing doesn't do me good, now does it," he smiles sadly, "That's what you always said. Wishing doesn't make a difference. Determination does." He laughs, "Boy, I wish just being determined to bring you back would actually do that. See? I wished again." 

He gently set his palm on the mirror of the cabinet, his fngerprints staining the glass he had just cleaned. "I'll see you again soon, baby. You just wait for me up there. It'll take a few years. I hope I go naturally. But I'll be up there, Art." He slowly tears up. 

"I'll see you soon."

\----

Le Fin  
The End


End file.
